I Take You Page 6

  Did Greeks go extinct? They aren’t dinosaurs. Just very indebted.

  Why am I thinking about the Greeks? Why am I thinking at all?

  It’s okay. It’s been a long day. I’ve still got time to sort everything out. Plenty of time. Dog’s years. Or donkey’s. Whatever.

  Tomorrow will be better. I’ll be better. Tomorrow.

  “Close your eyes,” Will says. “I’ll wake you when we get there.”

  MONDAY

  6

  I feel his hand first. Near my knee, stroking gently. Tracing a pattern on my skin. I shiver.

  I’m on my back, one arm flung over my eyes. Where are we? There’s a breeze. Scent of the ocean. A brightness in the room.

  Key West. I’m home.

  His hand slips under my knee, lifting it up. He parts my legs. His fingers trail up the inside of my thigh, pushing the thin silk of my slip out of the way.

  “Lily,” he whispers.

  I feel the heat of his body next to mine, his weight on the mattress drawing me toward him. I resist, leaning away slightly. His hand brushes across my stomach. I murmur and stretch, pretending that I’m still asleep. I turn away from him, but he pulls me back, gently pushing my shoulder into the pillow. He sweeps my hair out of my face, his fingertips on my cheeks and forehead. I keep my eyes closed. His breath is warm and smells sweet. He kisses my temples, softly. I inhale deeply as his throat brushes against my mouth. He kisses my ears. My eyebrows. My nose. The line of my jaw. I lift a hand and push him away sleepily. He takes it and kisses the inside of my wrist, my forearm, my elbow. He bites a finger.

  It is so hard not to respond, but I want to see what he’s going to do. He’s kissing my shoulder. His mouth is warmer, moving urgently now. I groan a little and shift away, but again he pulls me back. He slides the straps of my slip down my arms. His lips are on my throat, my collarbone. My right breast. My left. Kissing and licking and biting gently. I slowly reach down and find his cock, stroking it lightly with my fingers. He puts a hand between my legs now, a finger inside me, then two. I dig my heels into the mattress and press against them.

  “Lily,” he whispers.

  Then, just for fun, I push him away, hard, and start to sit up.

  That’s when Will grabs me and throws me back down on the bed. I try fighting him off, but he pins my wrists above my head with one hand, parts my legs with the other and enters me in one long thrust. I don’t expect it, it’s happened too fast, and it’s amazing. I gasp, my eyes wide open now, but Will’s are closed. His mouth finds mine. He kisses me deeply. Desperately. His mouth is insistent and unbearably hot. I can’t stop kissing him. He pulls out and enters me again roughly, and again and again. I cry out. He only thrusts harder. I say, “Will?”

  And he says, his lips close to my ear, “Shut up.”

  He releases my wrists and I wrap my arms around his neck. His hands move down my body until he’s clutching at my hips, pulling me up to him, over and over. It’s passionate and exciting and … what? Untender. And perfect. I bury my fingers in his hair and kiss his mouth, his cheeks, his stubbly throat. I bite his tongue. I bend my head and catch a nipple between my teeth. I move my tongue around it, swirling, tasting salt on the delicate skin.

  Then he’s kneeling on the bed and pulling me on top of him. His hands are on my hips again, his fingers digging in, as he guides me up and down. I lean over him so that my breasts brush against his mouth. I close my eyes and move with him, slowly, then faster and faster until I can’t take it anymore, warmth spreads through my entire body and I come, calling out, crashing down onto him over and over as the world goes a little dim.

  We’re still for a minute, me on him, him stroking my hair, still hard inside me. Then he pushes me off, turns me over and pulls me to my knees. I’m a little dazed, a little helpless—not that I would stop him from doing anything right now. Or ever. He enters me from behind, one hand on my hip, another in my hair. Moving slowly and deliberately. After a while I come back to myself a little. I can think.

  It’s our first three days, all over again.

  Just when I thought they were gone forever.

  I push back against him, wanting as much of him in me as possible. Everything, muscle and skin and blood and bone. He pulls all the way out and plunges back in, faster now, again and again. He slaps my ass, hard, and I cry out, and he does it again. I look at him over my shoulder. His eyes are closed, his face rapt. He’s saying my name, over and over. Pushing himself so deeply into me that I can’t catch my breath, and just when I think I can’t take it anymore, he reaches around and touches me and I come again, long and loud, a glorious, whole-body, tingling thing. So does he.

  We collapse together on the bed, the sheets twisted up beneath us. I’m drifting away on a cloud of pure happiness.

  “Will?” I whisper.

  “Hmm?”

  “Holy shit!”

  He laughs softly. “You’re welcome.”

  I can feel him smile against my skin. He kisses the back of my neck. His hand rests lightly on my hip.

  I turn my head so that I can see his face. “Can I ask you a question?”

  “No.”

  We start laughing. I roll over so that I’m facing him. My laughter dies away, and so does his. We’re looking into each other’s eyes now. Will’s are so dark that when I’m close like this I can see my reflection. But I’m seeing something else now. I’m seeing past his eyes, right into him. I’m seeing all of him, all at once. I’m seeing—

  There’s a knock at the door.

  I blink. I start breathing again. “God. Who could that be?”

  “The paramedics,” Will says, brushing the hair from my forehead. “Responding to multiple 911 calls.”

  We laugh again. “Lily?” Mattie calls out. “We’re going to be late!”

  “Go away!” I holler.

  “Blue Heaven? The rehearsal dinner? Whether we’re going to serve chicken, or pasta, or chicken with pasta …”

  We eventually crawl out of bed and pull on some clothes. Will catches up to me as I’m about to leave. He pushes me against the wall, and his hand goes up my skirt. I reach inside his pants. He’s already hard again. He says, “Don’t forget. We have lunch with my parents today.”

  “Oh, baby,” I whisper. “I love it when you talk dirty.”

  He laughs and tugs my panties down. “One o’clock.”

  I press myself against his hand. “What happens if I’m late?”

  “Bad things.” He starts unbuttoning my blouse. “Very bad things.”

  “Oh my God.” I lean my head back against the wall. “Who are you?”

  “A fool.” He kisses my throat. “I’m a fool in love.”

  We do it again, quickly, right there by the door. Eventually I go down to the lobby, where Mattie is waiting. She hands me a steaming cup of coffee.

  “Mattie! Bless your event-coordinating little heart!”

  “Don’t drink too much,” she warns. “We don’t want you to have horrible stained teeth in the photographs.”

  “These puppies won’t stain,” I tell her, tapping my teeth. “They’re one hundred percent false.”

  She looks shocked. “They are?”

  “I did way too much meth in law school.”

  She stares at me.

  “I’m joking.”

  “Oh!” she says. “Oh. That’s funny.”

  We head out to her car. She unlocks the doors and we get in. “How are you this morning?” she asks.

  “Never better, Mattie. Never. Better.” I raise my face to the sunshine streaming through the windshield. “It’s a beautiful day. I’m surrounded by my family. I’m marrying the perfect man. Life is good.”

  “I’m delighted to hear that.” She pulls out of the lot, swerving to avoid a brilliantly plumed rooster strutting across the road. Chickens run wild in Key West—they’re our squirrels, basically.

  “So many brides find the week before the wedding to be one of the worst of their lives,” Matt
ie continues. “It’s tragic! They should be at their happiest, and instead they’re stressed out and miserable.”

  “Not me, Mattie. I mean, I’ve had my doubts recently, okay? Not anymore.” I lean back against the seat and sip my coffee. “I hit the fucking jackpot with this guy.”

  She glances at me uncertainly. “Yes, he seems—”

  “Fucking,” I catch her eye for emphasis, “jackpot.”

  “Goodness!” she laughs. “You’re a real New Yorker, aren’t you?”

  I put my hand out the window, feeling the warm air push against it. I’m still basking in the afterglow.

  It’s back. I can’t quite believe it, but the great sex with Will is back.

  On a Thursday night back in August, I was at Walker’s Pub, down the street from my apartment. I was on a date with someone I’d met at a party, a banker. Hot, but a little predictable. I got up to go to the bathroom. There was a guy standing in the back hallway. He was tall and skinny. Light-brown hair. Glasses. Dressed a little carelessly. Normally, somebody I wouldn’t have looked twice at.

  What am I talking about? I look at everyone twice.

  But here’s my point: as I got closer, I noticed something unusual about him. He was still. Perfectly still. Leaning against the wall—not futzing with his phone, not fidgeting, not looking around. But not bored or spaced out, either. He looked like he was having an interesting conversation with himself.

  I put my hand on his arm, and he turned and looked at me politely. He had brown eyes and thick, expressive eyebrows.

  I said, “Are you in line for the bathroom?”

  “I am, yeah,” Will said.

  “Okay,” I said. “But I was here before you. Just so you know.”

  He gave me this slow, shy smile. “Is that right?”

  “I was here last night,” I said. “And the night before that.”

  “You come here a lot?”

  I nodded gravely. “I practically live here.”

  We heard the toilet flush. Someone stepped out. Will gestured gallantly toward the open door. “Please.”

  When I came out, he gave me a quick smile, ducking his head as he passed me to go in.

  When he came out, I was still waiting. “I forgot something in there,” I explained.

  He looked surprised. “What was it?”

  I smiled at him. “You.”

  He burst out laughing. Will has this great laugh, really sudden and happy. The kind of laugh you feel proud to have inspired, the kind that you want to keep hearing. I went to say good-bye to the banker. Will went to say good-bye to his friends. We met up at the restaurant across the street.

  He was a little shy at first, but not for long. We talked for an hour. He told me he was an archaeologist. I told him I was an astronaut. He said he was serious. I laughed at him. He showed me his museum ID to prove it. Then he told me all about his job, and he was so earnest and charming. I told him what I did, and he pretended to be interested. I asked him to speak Latin, and he did, but he wouldn’t translate what he said. Then he spoke a few more languages—Aramaic and ancient Greek, I think. Then we were kissing. Then we were leaving. My building was a block away. We barely made it into the elevator before we started tearing each other’s clothes off. Once we got inside the apartment, we didn’t leave again for three days.

  The sex was amazing. The best I’ve ever had. Ardent and intense and dirty and … honest, is the only way I can describe it. We knew how to communicate with each other, right away. And it was so much fun. When I wasn’t coming, I was laughing. And I mean, this guy? This sweet, brainy guy? Will is good-looking, but he’s totally unaware of it. He wasn’t at that bar to pick up women. He wasn’t one of those men who are so impressed with themselves, so eager to telegraph their prowess. And yet he turned out to be this gifted, uninhibited sex maniac.

  It was such a surprise. And I love surprises.

  Sometime in the middle of that first night, I woke up, aware that Will was touching me. Not like he had in the hours before, when it had been frantic and wild. Now it was slow, careful. Reverent. The light was on, and he was studying my body, inch by inch. Dwelling on my face. Combing his fingers through my hair. It was like he was memorizing me.

  “You’re so beautiful,” he said softly.

  I’m not, really I’m not, but who am I to contradict? Instead I raised my face and kissed his mouth and pulled him down to me again.

  It came to an end, eventually, as it had to. I got dragged back into work on Monday, when the opposing side in one of my cases filed an emergency motion. I pulled an all-nighter at the firm, then another. I flew to California with Philip and Lyle for a hearing. By the time I got back, Will had left for an academic conference in London. He was gone for a week. We’d been talking and e-mailing whenever we could, but I was swamped, and things kind of trailed off. Freddy and I went out one night while Will was gone. I met someone—the pickle guy. I went home with him. It was pretty great, which made me feel weirdly guilty. I barely knew Will. He had no claim on me. I had never felt bad before. Still. I did.

  Two weeks after we first met, Will and I got together again. We went out to dinner, then back to his place and straight to bed. And it was nice. But not the same. He was reserved. Almost awkward. The same thing happened a few nights later, and the night after that. It was sweet, and tender, and romantic, but … a little dull. I didn’t say anything, expecting things to go back to the way they were. And I really liked him, so we kept seeing each other.

  Two weeks after that, he proposed. He told me he’d had the ring made while he was in London, because even then he knew.

  He knew! How crazy is that? No one had ever wanted to marry me before. I’m so not that kind of girl. But Will did. He loved me. I was shocked. I hated the thought of disappointing him. So I said yes.

  Our sex life never reached the same heights, although I kept chasing those first three days. I finally concluded that Will didn’t have a very strong sex drive. Some guys are like that, I guess. I didn’t push matters. We’re busy people, we both work long hours—it’s just not a priority for him. Could I have forced the issue, demanded that we talk about it? Could I have initiated sex more? I suppose, and part of me is still mystified about why I didn’t. Maybe I was holding back a little. Or a lot. I didn’t want him to get the wrong idea about me. Or the right idea. Whatever.

  It doesn’t matter. After this morning, every average thing about our sex life is in the past. We’re back to where we started, and I couldn’t be happier. I’m not going to waste time wondering why. Maybe it’s the fresh ocean air. Maybe it’s the sultry surroundings. Maybe he couldn’t let loose and regain his lustfulness until now, the eve of our wedding.

  I think the Amish are like that.

  Bottom line? I am done, completely done, with questioning my decision to get married. That business last night? The uncertainty, the worry, the random flirtation and—let’s face it—mindless panic? So silly. So pointless. My initial instincts were right all along.

  Everything’s going to be fine.

  I sip my coffee. “What’s on the agenda this morning, Mattiecakes?”

  “I’ve kept it light,” she replies, turning onto Whitehead Street. “After the restaurant we just have to stop by the new florist and go over the plan for the reception.”

  “Great!” I say. “Wait. We have a new florist?”

  “Yes. I fired the old one.”

  “Really?”

  Mattie sighs regretfully. “He wasn’t doing his best work.”

  I think this over. “Shouldn’t I have been consulted?”

  She turns to me, horrified. “Did you like Martin?”

  “Well, no,” I admit. “I mean, I don’t have any idea what he was doing. And I probably would have gone along with whatever you wanted me to do. But …”

  Why am I objecting? I’ve always given Mattie free rein. I need her to have free rein. Maybe I don’t like the pointed reminder of how uninvolved I’ve been in these proceedings. How di
sengaged.

  Mattie pulls up in front of Blue Heaven, a funky island café on Thomas Street. She switches off the ignition and bursts into tears.

  “I’m letting you down!” she wails.

  Oh, Jesus. “Of course you’re not!” I assure her.

  “Planning this wedding has been utterly overwhelming,” she confesses. “Your family is very … unusual. And everything has been so last minute! I want it all to be perfect, but I haven’t gotten a great deal of direction from you. And now I’ve overstepped my bounds!”

  “No no! You’re doing an amazing job, Mattie.”

  She blows her nose and glances at me hopefully. “Really?”

  “Absolutely,” I say. “This is my fault. I haven’t always responded as quickly as I should to your e-mails and texts and voice mails and Face-book messages and … everything else. But that’s going to change. Starting now.”

  “Are you sure, dear?”

  “Whatever you need me to do, Mattie, I’m here. Lay it on me. Let’s do it. Let’s plan this wedding, okay?”

  “Okay!” she warbles happily, and hops out of the car. We walk into the restaurant’s open-air courtyard, total besties. I realize I’m starving, and the owner is kind enough to give me a plate of fruit and a delicious Bloody Mary. We pore over the menu for the rehearsal dinner, and with the assistance of a second Bloody Mary, I make a number of critical bridal decisions (chicken and fish, bitches!). After a third, valedictory Bloody Mary, I follow Mattie back to the car.

  “Key West has changed so much since you grew up here,” she tells me as she steers us back toward Duval Street. “We’re very cosmopolitan now. That’s an interesting shop over there.” She points at a cheerful yellow cottage. “It opened in November. They make … oh, what do you call it?” She snaps her fingers. “God bless it! Why can’t I remember? Comes from a cow.”

  “Milk?”

  “No,” she says. “Harder.”

  “Ice cream?”

  “No, it’s not sweet.”

  “Cheese?”

  “Cheese!” she cries. “They make their own cheese.”

  “You forgot the word for cheese?”